Sir has tasked me with creating a series of stories/scenarios about sexual situations. Some will be drawn from past events, some will be things i'd like to have happen, and some will be pure fiction, spun from my imagination and best left there. LOL.
My Master is due back this evening; he's been away for quite some time, and I have missed him terribly. But he has promised to see me tonight, so I've been busy preparing for his arrival. I've put clean sheets on the bed, fluffed the pillows, bought a new, sweet-smelling candle, which flickers on the bedside table. I'm washed and shaved and dressed in a simple white camisole and white panties. There are about 10 clothespins scattered on the nightstand, along with a blindfold, my anal beads, vibrator, bit, and lube. The crook of Master's cane is tucked in the handle of the topmost dresser drawer. Now all I have to do, is wait.
And wait.
I sit on the living room couch with a book and a small glass of wine, hoping to pass the time more easily. My eyes scan the text, and I flip the pages every so often, but honestly, I'm not absorbing much. The wine is cool and sweet, and I drain the glass, but am hesitant to drink any more ... I'm quite sure Master will want me to suck his cock, and given that I always, always gag on it, I don't want anything in my stomach to make a reappearance at an inopportune time.
Finally, though, as the butterflies in my belly threaten to choke me, and my patience is wearing thin due to nervousness, there's a sharp rap at the door. I drop the book on the floor and hurry to the door, opening it to admit my Master. He steps in and I close the door behind him, taking a deep breath to steady my nerves. My heart is beating frantically in my chest, and my mouth has gone dry. I lean back against the closed door, my hands tucked behind my back, and meet his eyes. I can't help it - a smile curves my lips.
"Hello, Kitten," he says.
"Good evening, Master," I reply. "I'm glad to see you."
"Are you?" he asks. He takes a step towards me and reaches out to cup my cheek in his hand. I tilt my head to lean into his palm, savoring this first, long-awaited touch. His eyes sweep over me from head to toe, taking in my chosen attire.
"Let's see how ready you are," he murmurs, quietly, almost to himself. And then his voice firms, takes on a commanding tone. "Down."
I drop to my knees immediately, right there in the foyer, my hands loosely folded on my lap, my eyes downcast. His hand, which had been cupping my face just a moment before, rests on top of my head.
"Good girl," he says, softly. "Did you choose this outfit specifically for me?"
"Yes, Master."
He is quiet for a moment. "I approve. Good girl, pet."
He turns away from me then, and heads off down the hall. "Come, pet," he calls over his shoulder, and I crawl on hands and knees behind him, down the hall and into my bedroom. He is standing near the foot of the bed when I arrive, and I sit on my knees, resting on my heels, when I reach him.
"I'm wearing too many clothes," he says. "Undress me."
I reach up and begin unbuttoning his shirt, starting with the lowest button. He's so tall, though, that I can't undo very many while I'm kneeling, but before I can stand, he clasps my hands in his.
"That's enough for now," he says. "But I'm still wearing my pants."
I undo the button of his slacks and slowly slide the zipper down. I'm kind of teasing him - well, both of us, if I'm honest; my lips part and my breaths come faster. I haven't been given permission to take my time, but he hasn't corrected me, so I'm sure I'm okay doing this. I slide my hands into his open fly, palms brushing the front of his hips, then sliding to the sides, slowly pushing his slacks down with the backs of my hands, my palms gliding along his legs and calves as the pants fall slowly to the floor. I untie his shoes, and he grabs the bed's footboard for balance as I lift one foot, then the other, to remove his shoes and tug the pants off over his feet. He wiggles his toes, so I peel off his socks, as well.
There's a distinct bulge in his boxers, and I take my time with carefully pulling the waistband out and over his cock, taking care to stroke his rapidly-swelling shaft as I push the boxers down, and again, I lift each foot to tug the boxers off. His cock is right there, all swollen and red and looking so very good, and I sit up tall on my knees and lean forward, giving it a good long lick with my tongue. He sucks in a breath, and I pull his cock into my mouth, sucking it and bobbing my head so he slides in and out of my mouth, and over my tongue.
He smells of musk and sweat, and tastes salty and hot and wonderful. Good God, but I have missed this. I close my eyes and breathe deeply through my nose, still working to take him in as far as I can. He's nearly fully erect, now, and is too big for me to take, but I try anyway. He moans, and I bob my head faster, trying to show him with my lips and tongue how much I have missed him. He pushes to the back of my throat, causing me to gag, and a trickle of saliva leaks from the corner of my mouth and dribbles down my chin. Damn it, I hate that. I gag again, harder this time, and my stomach contracts sharply. Damn, damn!
He pulls away, and reaches a hand down to me.
"Stand up."
I grasp his hand and allow him to pull me to my feet. When I have my balance, he drops my hand, and says, "Position 3."
I hastily pull the camisole over my head, dropping it to the floor, and pull my panties off, then plant my feet at shoulder-width and clasp my hands behind my back. My eyes come to rest on one of his buttons - one I hadn't been able to reach earlier. I watch, now, in silence, as his fingers come up and resume unbuttoning his shirt. As each inch of skin is revealed, I gaze hungrily at his chest, and I hear my breath catch. I want to touch him ... but I haven't been given permission, so I stand, quietly, and wait.
He opens the last button, but leaves his shirt on, and tells me, "Recite."
I repeat my devotion for him, the one I say before I go to sleep each night, pledging myself into his care and his service. When I finish, he says merely, "Again."
When I begin, he shrugs the shirt off and tosses it to the floor. As I speak, he circles behind me, then leans down and nibbles my shoulder. My voice falters as my knees go weak, but I finish my recitation without missing a word.
"Again."
I begin my devotion for the third time, and his arms encircle me, his fingers plucking my nipples, pinching and squeezing and rolling them, and I suck in a huge breath of air and lean back against him, because I swear my legs might just buckle. My voice goes breathy and weak, but in between gasps and groans I manage to finish my recitation without making a mistake.
He leans down and sinks his teeth into my shoulder, and it hurts, God, it hurts, and I moan loudly in pain. Then he lifts his head and kisses his mark - it is blooming into a bruise right now, I know. I can't help my wince, though, because it is quite sore.
"Go get on the bed," he says, softly, and I walk on shaky legs to obey. I lie across the mattress, my knees dangling off the edge, and I watch as he drops to his knees beside the bed. His eyes lock with mine as he slowly, slowly lowers his head, and I stop breathing, my mouth open, my heart hammering in anticipation, as his mouth comes closer and closer to me. Just before he reaches me, though, he stops and tells me to raise my hands up above my head. I comply silently, and then he abruptly buries his face in my pussy. I buck up into his mouth and squeal (yes, you heard me - I squeal) as his lips close over my clit and he begins suckling it. I grab onto the comforter, twisting it between my fingers, and close my eyes as desire spears me.
Master's mouth is hot and relentless, his tongue alternating between lashing at my clit and stabbing deep into my pussy. His hands are clamped on my thighs to keep me still, as I am bucking almost wildly by this point. My back arches hard, my neck straining as my head tips back. I let loose a loud moan; there's no way I can keep it contained. This is no slow, easy buildup to orgasm; my climax is rushing toward me, a wild, burning need that threatens to consume me. And still, Master's mouth, his hot, wet, needy, devouring mouth feasts on me, pulling me ever closer to completion.
I feel the first stirrings of my climax, and I moan, again, and even though I'm panting and trying to buck into Master's mouth, I somehow manage to gasp out a few words.
"Close .... Master .... may I? Please? May I, please?"
Master lifts his head just long enough to say, "Yes," before pulling my clit between his lips and sucking hard. And I am lost - I cannot stop it, now, the boiling need to cum, and I'm right on that knife's edge, that moment teetering between wanting to cum and climax, and then I'm tipped over, and my orgasm rips through me, my back bowing sharply, my legs tensing, my pussy flooding its completion over Master's tongue, my voice a long, loud wail. My muscles lock up, and my body shakes almost violently.
And then it passes, and my muscles relax so quickly that I sag into the mattress. I'm panting harshly, my breaths coming in huge gasps, my heart pounding in my chest. I open my eyes to see Master leaning over me; as soon as our eyes meet, he says, "Again," and plunges his fingers into my pussy. I cry out and buck up, tossing my head side to side. I haven't quite come down, and this new stimulation pushes me right to building another climax. His fingers are wet and slick with my juices. They pump steadily, pushing in deep, and I moan and writhe and ride his fingers.
My own hands twist the comforter again, seeking something to ground me, because I can feel another orgasm coming up and it's almost painful, really. He comes up beside me and latches onto my nipple with his mouth, pulling it between his teeth and nipping at it. I flinch from the sting of his teeth and writhe from the forceful finger-fucking he's giving me, and damn, I'm gonna cum again, I can feel it right there, right there ....
His thumb brushes my clit and the coil in my belly snaps. My orgasm rushes over me and I cry out, my back arching hard for the second time. This one is even stronger than the first, almost painful in its intensity, and I am helpless to do anything but ride it out. I lose awareness of everything but the pleasure spiraling through my body and the high, keening cry of my voice.
When I come to awareness, my throat feels parched, my body quaking, my chest heaving with my deep, gasping breaths. Master's hand is caressing my thigh with deep, long, soothing strokes. I roll to my side and curl into a ball, feeling myself still trembling. Master's hand moves to my back, then, smoothing down my spine, and only now do I realize that he is speaking to me, saying "Good girl," over and over in a low, soothing tone.
I pull myself together long enough to whisper "Thank you, Master."
I feel the wet, sticky remnants of my climax between my thighs, and my pussy feels stretched and vaguely sore, but in a good way. One nipple is throbbing slightly, the one Master had bitten, and I wince when I bump it with my arm. His hand is warm on my back, and I lie there next to him, content and drowsy, even though I know it will be quite a while before I'll be allowed to sleep tonight. A smile curves my lips as I wonder what else Master has in mind for me.
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